


18 Ways to Say I Love You (without scaring you off)

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 18 ways to say I love you, 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Falling In Love, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, Love Languages, M/M, Mutual Pining, Writing Exercise, how to say i love you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-23 14:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20341855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are in love. But saying those three words is scary and revealing. Sometimes you use your actions instead of your words.I've been working on a big fic lately and I needed a palate cleanser. Consider this my stash of sorbet servings for when I just want to put something quick and easy out.





	1. Be An Active Listener

Crowley liked to vocalise a lot of his thoughts regardless of whether anyone was listening. It helped him organise things in his head and sometimes the answer he was looking for would present itself in the process. However, when someone _was_ present, he did appreciate being acknowledged. On one particular morning, the demon was muttering about the difficulty he was having with a new plant. Aziraphale was reading a book, sat at his desk with his back to the bookshop. He always said that the restless way that Crowley stalked about the place made him feel quite uneasy. The angel wasn’t exactly ignoring him, but still, Crowley felt a little isolated as he meandered around the bookshelves. 

“The gardenia just hasn’t responded to anything I’ve tried. More light, less light. Bigger pot. High-quality plant food. Nothing makes the damn thing happy. If I yell at it, it just gets worse. I think it might be giving the other plants ideas.” 

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale and saw him turn another page of his book. He huffed and flopped onto the sofa near the desk. 

“You shouldn’t yell at your plants, Crowley.” 

The demon huffed again. A delayed response was better than nothing, he supposed, but he was still feeling pretty ignored. He stayed on the sofa for a while longer, waiting to see if Aziraphale was going to engage him further. When nothing more was said, he made his excuses and went home to glare at the recalcitrant gardenia some more. 

The phone rang a little after 2 am. Crowley heard the answerphone kick in from where he lay awake in bed. 

“You’ve reached Anthony Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style.” 

“Crowley, it’s Aziraphale. I know you aren’t sleeping. Pick up.” 

Crowley had jumped up at the first syllable of his name, recognising the angel’s voice. He snatched up the handset and immediately cursed himself for being so eager. 

“Angel, it’s the middle of the night.” 

“Is your gardenia warm?” Aziraphale asked cryptically. 

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. This was something he’d been dreading. 

“Aziraphale. Please. That doesn’t even make sense. Sure, prank calls are all very funny but you’ve made two big mistakes. Firstly, don’t tell them who you are, and secondly, your question should be the lead to a joke like ‘is your refrigerator running’ or something. Now find someone else to practice on.” 

The angel was going to be insufferable once he got the hang of this. 

“Prank call? Crowley, really. I am an _angel_.” Aziraphale sounded very much like an angel who was about to find out everything he could about a new type of practical joke. “I want to know if your gardenia is warm. If it’s in too warm a spot, the buds won’t open.” 

“What?” 

“Do try to keep up, dear. I’ve been thinking about your gardenia problem all day. I knew I’d read something about them a while back and I just found it. You know, they don’t make very good houseplants.” 

“I, uh, I wanted a challenge.” Crowley was suddenly on the back foot and flailing for something to make sense in this conversation. “Angel, did you call me at two in the morning to try and help me with my plant?” 

“Of course I did. You seemed so put out.” Aziraphale’s voice could have made marshmallows jealous with its softness. 

“I didn’t think you were listening.” Crowley admitted. 

“I listen to every word you say to me. Is this why you left in a strop?” 

“I was not in a strop!” 

“No, of course not. Will I see you for breakfast?” 

“Yeah, definitely.” 

“Goodnight Crowley.” Aziraphale said gently before hanging up as if this was a normal phone call.

The gardenia was startled to find itself whisked away from its usual spot and whirled around the room on route to a cooler position away from the radiator. The loving, demonic kiss on its topmost leaves was an even bigger shock. Unsure of what new form of torture this was, it spent the night working very hard at popping out some exquisitely fragranced blossoms.


	2. 2. Ask Your Partner How They Are Doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still using a really basic relationship help guide as a prompt list! Post-Armageddon't, Crowley and Aziraphale are struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.

It had been a difficult week for them both. The almost end of the world had been very taxing for Crowley and he was still raw from the events. Aziraphale didn’t mind at all. He didn’t mind that Crowley had all but moved into the bookshop, that sometimes he would fall asleep on the sofa and wake up screaming, that he had so much to say about the horrors of hell. It was clearly helping Crowley to get this all out, to talk about the fears and terrors that plagued him. So, no, Aziraphale didn’t mind at all.

The angel wasn’t exactly keen on being alone right now either, and they do say that a problem shared is a problem halved so there was catharsis for both beings in their long conversations. If Aziraphale had noticed that Crowley dominated the topics, he didn’t mention it. Crowley needed the release more than he did.

The demon had just startled himself awake from an afternoon nap and scared off a potential customer at the same time. Now by habit, Aziraphale put on the kettle to make tea and gave Crowley’s shoulders a little squeeze.  
“That one sounded bad. Do you want to talk about it?” Aziraphale opened the topic to save Crowley from having to ask for support.

“Not really. Just more of the same. Satan coming for me, oppressive terror, can’t move, blah blah blah.” He shook his head.

“It’s hardly ‘blah’, Crowley.” The angel tutted as he set a mug of tea in front of his friend.

Crowley pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around his shoulders like a protective cocoon. Aziraphale was struck by how fragile and thin he looked, how vulnerable. The gaze of those golden eyes settled on him and gave the impression that he was being examined just as intensely.

“How are you, Angel?”

“Oh, you know. I’m ticking along well enough.” He answered, brightly. A smile exposed his teeth and nothing more.

Crowley leaned forward and picked up his tea, looking at the angel over the rim of the mug as he sipped.

“I don’t think you’re being entirely honest. We’ve talked my issues into the ground. How are you doing, Aziraphale?” He sounded so earnest.

For his part, Aziraphale felt a sudden wave of self-consciousness. He’d been focusing on Crowley so much that he really hadn’t stopped to check in with himself, content with the same veneer of lies that had carried him through the past two weeks and more. How was he doing? 

“I, uh, I don’t know, to be perfectly honest.” He admitted to Crowley as much as to himself. “I’ve liked having you around so much but I think that I might have been using that as an excuse to ignore my own feelings. If I focus on helping you cope then I wouldn’t need to deal with what’s going on up here.” Aziraphale tapped his temple with one finger.

Crowley nodded his understanding, still leaning into the conversation. Aziraphale realised that the customary sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. Crowley had opened his barriers for Aziraphale so they could both feel safe.

“I think I’m scared more than anything else. I’m scared that you’re going to go away, that there’s a punishment for my treason still waiting for me, that I am going to hurt you somehow. I’m afraid of being truly honest with myself about the way I’ve acted in the past.” Now that he had started talking, Aziraphale found that he couldn’t stem the flow of words from his lips. “I know, deep down, that I have to do some soul searching about my understanding of good and evil, morality as a whole, and the behaviour of Heaven. That worries me more than I thought it would. What if I’m too conditioned and indoctrinated? What if I’ll always want their approval? What if I’ve cut myself off from the only source of divinity available to me?”

Aziraphale was surprised to find that he could hyperventilate. The weight of his worries crushed his ribcage like a vice, holding him immobile and paving the way for panic to set in. His eyes grew wider as his breaths became more shallow and rapid.

In an instant, Crowley was beside him, draped over the arm of the armchair with the blanket now extended around both of them. His hand ran up and down Aziraphale’s back in steady, soothing strokes.

“Breathe, Angel. All the way in. It’s OK. I’m here.” Crowley kept up a stream of calming, affirming commentary which Aziraphale was hugely grateful for. 

Using the pace of the caresses up and down his back to measure his breaths, Aziraphale began to regain control of his corporeal form.

“Look at me,” Crowley instructed.

Aziraphale took his time in turning his face towards Crowley, ashamed of his loss of control. The demon's face was a picture of concern.

“I’m here, I’m not leaving. You’ve got to let me look after you sometimes, you know.” Crowley’s voice was warm honey.

“I know. I will.” Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley’s shoulder having decided that one emotional breakthrough was enough for today.


	3. Don't scroll and talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale doesn't scroll, but you'd be hard-pressed to get his nose out of a book once he's started. However, you're not Crowley.

It was a lovely day for sitting at the park with a good book which, conveniently, was exactly what Aziraphale intended to do. He had a bench in mind; one with a nice view of the pond and the perfect distance from the playground so the screams of children were amusing rather than distracting, and copy of E.M Forster's _Maurice_ under his arm. The sun was warm but not oppressive, tempered by a light breeze. Aziraphale found his bench unoccupied, just as he expected, and made himself comfortable for a prolonged stint of leisurely reading.

After an hour or so, although no meeting had been arranged, Aziraphale spotted Crowley sauntering towards him. He offered a smile of acknowledgement and went straight back to reading. Crowley sat at the other end of the bench, just like their old clandestine days. Just two man-shaped beings, sitting on a bench, five feet apart because they aren't spies.

Aziraphale turned a page and carried on reading.

Crowley sprawled along the bench, not looking anywhere in particular. As far as Aziraphale was concerned, this was a perfectly pleasant way to spend an afternoon, they were spending time together but not bothering each other just for the sake of idle chatter. He felt a great sense of contentment, a subtle smile playing in the corners of his mouth.

Twenty minutes after he sat down, Crowley sat up a bit straighter and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then slouched again having apparently thought better of it. Ten more minutes passed in still silence. Crowley fidgeted listlessly, alternating which of his unnaturally long legs should be stretched out into the path.

Aziraphale kept reading, paying just enough attention to Crowley to see that he was working something over in his mind. He knew that Crowley would want to talk soon but that there was no point in pressing the issue before he had his thoughts in order.

"Uh... Nevermind." Crowley muttered, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

Nearly there, thought Aziraphale as he took note of the page number he was on.

Crowley flopped backwards, a little more dramatically than his usual style and sighed pointedly.

Aziraphale closed his book and held it in his lap, turning slightly to face Crowley.

"Crowley, is there something on your mind?"

"S'nothin'. Keep reading your book, don't wanna bother you."

Aziraphale smiled kindly, holding his copy of _Maurice_ quite firmly to show that he was not returning to his reading.

“You have my undivided attention, Crowley. Whatever you want to talk about, I’m here.”

Crowley paused for a second, looking bemused.

“I’m interrupting you, though.”

“I’m choosing to give you my attention. You are more important than any book, dear.”

Crowley sniffed.

“You sure you wouldn’t prefer for me to go away?”

It was almost an invitation to hurt him like he wanted to be kicked away.

“Positive.” Aziraphale was learning not to pander to Crowley’s more self-punishing desires.

Crowley pulled his sunglasses off and rubbed at his eyes, he gave Aziraphale one moment of solid eye contact before the glasses were back in place. He looked haunted.

“I’ve been having the nightmares again, Angel.” He began, and Aziraphale listened.


End file.
